Mauri and Sherry

On or near every Mothers Day, Quinn and I exchange Mothers Day stockings. We started this tradition when it became apparent the two of us had no boundaries regarding our Christmas stocking shopping for each other. This excessive behavior holds roots dating back to her family of origin, the evidence captured on video and now archived on DVD for all time. As life brought changes for both of us we thought we had subdued our gift-giving tendencies. But, no.

You probably wonder about the fairness factor; after all, I have nine other children, all told, who know about Quinn’s and my special “arrangement.” Last May, as I dined at a Denver Red Lobster with the Anderson family and Taylor (youngest of the Carlson siblings), Quinn and I expressed our eagerness to exchange Mothers Day stockings as part of our weekend attending a Beth Moore conference in Colorado Springs. When Taylor feigned disgruntled wonderment about the inequality it represents, I simply reminded him that it was a stocking exchange and that I would gladly exchange Mothers Day stockings with him too. Oh. Right.

The next day Q and I tried not to be too conspicuous as we hauled our king-size pillowcase “stockings” into the hotel lobby. Since they outweighed our overnight bags, that was not easily accomplished.

She carried the biggest one, since she way outdid herself in shopping for me this year. Here are a few highlights:

My not-so-subtle way of sneaking in a picture of our grands.

But the very best present of all was this pair of Merrells you see on my feet, which is where they have been every day of my life since, while the other shoes in my closet gather dust. I have never worn more comfortable shoes, and my walking has vastly improved because of them (and continued PT from Kathy). Late at night, when my neglected shoes think I’m asleep, I hear their murmurs, “What’s up with Sherry?” I’ll try to be gentle as I inform them they are being made redundant (the Brits’ word for being laid off). As budget allows, they’ll gradually be replaced by this and this and this and maybe another pair of these for backup.

It’s a good thing Quinn and I don’t compete for who gives the best stuff, ’cause I could never top this.

Why is Erin jumping for joy? On Tuesday she and her book’s coauthor, Tiffany Wilding-White, signed their contract with McGraw-Hill, and today…[insert fanfare]…the final manuscript for Golfing with Your Eyes Closed went out in the mail!

We’re just a little bit proud of her.

I’m glad my dad doesn’t have to celebrate his 104th birthday today. This isn’t a commentary on people who live that long. Some make longevity a goal, and anyone who lives past the century mark should be congratulated. My dad packed more than a century worth of life into his 92 years, so when he died in 1996 I couldn’t really feel bad about it. I did feel bad that I didn’t have more time to “play” with him once I’d made the no-small effort to move him from Jacksonville, Florida, to a Newberg care facility. I had sugarplum visions of taking him a McDonald’s chocolate shake every day, of sitting in his room while he talked on and on (and on and on) about Victory in Christ and his story of sevens. But after only two weeks, he up and died—just like that!

I got a call from the nurse saying, “Your dad is telling us he’s dying and he wants you to come.” Of course I was there in a flash, only to find Dad fully dressed, sitting in a wheelchair, waiting for me. “Dad, what makes you think you’re dying?” “Well, I’m closing up,” he said. So in total denial, I sat on his bed and talked with him about who he’ll see when he dies and what he wants to happen at his memorial service. He wanted me to write it all down and insisted on signing it. Then he asked me to sing “Since Jesus Came into My Heart,” and I agreed to sing it if he would direct me (since he had been a choir director in his day). A curious audience began to form at the door as he directed the chorus in Cliff Barrows style. That accomplished, an aide came to push Dad down the hall to lunch. Uncharacteristically, he resisted. Since he was dying, he didn’t see much sense in eating lunch.

But caregivers and daughters are prone to move on with our agendas, so I urged him to go to lunch and waved goodbye as he rode down the hall.

One of my dad’s favorite expressions was, “There’s nothing so foolish as regret.” I don’t see much point in regretting that it took a phone call that night to snap me out of my denial. I choose instead to embrace that wonderful scene in his room earlier in the day when we had the connection to beat all connections, still as bright in my memory as if it had happened today.

Mauri and I were traveling over the Fathers Day weekend, so I decided on this day, what would have been my dad’s 104th birthday, to post this collage that matches the one I posted of my mother on Mothers Day.

A day or so before he died, Dad gave me the “Victory” sign. What a way to go!

You probably already know this about me—I love pictures! Any time I have an excuse to meander through my files and files of digital pictures or page through my albums (the kind you can hold in your hands), I sideline all other projects to give my attention fully to my beloved photos. Compulsive, some might say.

We’ll be away from home around Fathers Day so I wanted to have Dusty’s card ready to mail before we leave. Couldn’t find one suitable so decided to make him one. What would he like any better than pictures of those little kiddos who call him Dad?

Now try to imagine how much fun I had creating these:

Bailey…

Marissa…

and Cassidy.

I don’t know what caused that line across the middle of each one, but at least that wasn’t on the version I sent Dusty…early (so this post doesn’t spoil the surprise).

And while we’re on the topic of cute grandkids, here’s something that raises the bar on cuteness. (It’s Bailey, at age 2.)

Last month our son, Rachel’s John Williams, graduated from the Pennsylvania Academy of the Fine Arts. Their Oregon siblings flew across the country to celebrate. They’re the ones who get credit for these great pictures that will tell the story:

John and Rachel in their Philadelphia home, ready to attend the award and exhibition events.

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The next best thing to being there!

John won FIVE awards, all important, one especially so. It was a $5,000 travel/study award, which might take John and Rach to Puerto Rico.

Here’s the exhibition part. You can see John’s specialized style.

I’ve forgotten now exactly how many paintings he sold from this exhibit but it was nearly all or absolutely all of them. And we just learned he’s presently working on a commissioned piece. That’s affirmation of the very best kind.

Here’s the whole gang: John/Erin, Pete/Lins, Elizabeth (John’s mom, who traveled via Amtrak from Portland), John/Rachel

We are very proud (can you tell?) and happy to broadcast this accomplishment. John’s been committed to finishing his degree, and now he’s done it! Woo hoo!

Yesterday we gathered once again for the season finale of our monthly family dinners. Pete and Linsey showed up a little early to throw together their salad and to see themselves on Monday’s Today Show, which we had recorded for them after Lins e-mailed that they were 90% sure they were in the background of an interview with the US women’s soccer team.

That was to be Pete’s show ‘n’ tell, but he and Lins had lots more stories to tell from their whirlwind adventure to Philadelphia, New York City, and Cape Cod last week. John and Erin had pictures and stories too, as they had made a similar whirlwind visit to the East Coast. (I’ll include those in a future post, once they pass them along to me.)

This report needs to include Mauri’s show ‘n’ tell. He enlisted Pete’s help without telling Pete what would be expected of him. I won’t try to guess what Pete might have been thinking as he watched his pop with my nail scissors clipping the stitches from his knee surgery.

Pete’s job was to pull them out.

I know Mauri was well aware he chose the least appropriate candidate for that job. But Pete stayed on task…well, for the first one anyway.

While all this happened, the rest of us moaned and laughed but were anything but surprised that Mauri would choose this for his show ‘n’ tell. Wait. Did I say the rest of us? One exception: Cousin Wendy, married one year to Cousin Craig. Without a shred of subtlety she leaned to Craig and said, “Your family is weird!” I gently patted Wendy’s knee and reminded her that we are her family.

MomEdna celebrated 89 years today! Once yesterday…

…and again today.

This morning, a Sunday!, I was dressed and ready for the day at 7:30. With the family dinner setup already accomplished, I had one of my rare opportunities to sit out on the back deck in the cool of a morning to read or just sit. I chose to make a little progress in Wendell Berry’s Jayber Crow for next week’s reading-group discussion. It’s my second time through, and I’m enjoying it just as much as the first time except in different ways, maybe for different reasons.

I had just settled into the comfy folding canvas chair when I began hearing an unrecognizable intermittent noise. It sounded like an oversized gas leak. Or so I imagined. For one who is not prone to worry, the possibilities that ran through my head surprised me. Since I hear only out of my right ear, my direction perception is often askew, so I couldn’t be sure where the strange sound was coming from. Except for the birds, the neighborhood created no sound at all. Then, again, that “gas leak” bellowed nearby.

Then what to my wondering eyes should appear directly above me…

Of course! Was it so long ago that I was up in one of those things, with an up-close-and-personal encounter with the sound that was such a mystery? Well, you can see I regained my senses in time to grab the camera before that “danger” went on its merry way. And with its exit the silence returned to my backyard world.

Jayber Crow might be a fictional character but even he expressed appreciation for silence in the few pages I read before resuming life in the fast lane. He described why he’d started attending church again. “At a certain point in the service the preacher would ask that we ‘observe a moment of silence.’ You could hear a little rustle as the people settled down into the deliberate cessation. And then the quiet that was almost the quiet of the empty church would come over us and unite us as we were not united even in singing, and the little sounds (maybe a bird’s song) from the world outside would come in to us, and we would completely hear it.”

The confluence of my mystery-sound experience and reading these words struck me poignantly. I could stand to make space in my days to simply sit in silence—and listen. Listening to silence might seem oxymoronic, as in noisy silence, but listening in silence, once all the distractions filter out, could allow me to “completely hear” and maybe even understand something mysterious.

God was very generous to me when he handed out mothers. He gave me four plus a number of “moms” of my friends through the years. My original mom gave me life and endured my childhood and adolescence, but her influence continues, though her physical presence in my life ended 20 years ago, almost to the day. With all the tangible or intangible reminders I keep readily accessible, I don’t run any risk of forgetting the love she showed me those 43 earthly years we spent together. Here’s an example, something that hangs on my office wall.

Happy Mothers Day…not only to my two living moms, but to all females who have a loving influence in someone’s life.

Here are some miscellaneous pictures from my weekend in Denver. You know how hard it is for me to resist.

Wii Bowling with Bailey. Cassidy took the picture.

Bailey got bonked in the forehead with a bouncing fielder but missed only one inning.

The Anderson family ran the Nike 5K in downtown Denver, and I got to witness the event.

Snow welcomed me on Thursday, but by Sunday we had the top off!

Got to see Taylor twice, and both times involved forking food into our mouths.

That about covers it. For now, anyway.

Another highlight of my weekend was grandson Bailey’s participation in the Rockies game. Comfort Dental sponsored a drawing, won by Bailey and seven others. They scored lots of loot and the privilege of being in the starting lineup.

He stood in left field in Matt Holliday’s position, where Matt joined him. This picture shows Matt signing Bailey’s baseball.

Bailey and his dad hope to catch a wayward ball from their nosebleed-section seats. Nice glove, Dusty.